


Breaking Point

by Hikari42



Series: Forces [2]
Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sonic Forces Speculation, i've written way too much sonuckles rip, shrugging emoji
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikari42/pseuds/Hikari42
Summary: Knuckles is trying to be a leader, even when everything and everyone is breaking to pieces, including himself.





	1. Reunited

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a few months ago so a few of my assumptions are wrong, but oh well. I’m officially a shipper and sonuckles will kill me one day. (I’ve already written over 100k words of sonuckles on various projects...) This is gonna be a collection of loosely connected stories. I don’t know how the game is gonna go (though I do have a few good guesses), so this isn’t gonna be delving very deep into that stuff. It’s mainly just scenes-from-the-bunker. Gay scenes-from-the-bunker.

The world is falling down around them, Eggman’s face is everywhere, and they’re living underground. Silver’s there, that’s a thing they all just have to deal with, and Amy is itching to fight, barely listens when instructed to “ _no, wait_ , _we have to wait..._ ” Tails has sequestered himself into the small corner of the bunker he’s calling his lab but it’s really nothing more than a computer balanced on his knees and a hanging lamp with a bare bulb. He mutters to himself there, sometimes about science, sometimes about faith (which has to do with Sonic), sometimes about physics, sometimes about math, sometimes about linguistics; he distracts himself with hard facts because it’s better than the alternative.

And Knuckles? Well, Knuckles is trying to be a leader. The problem, of course, is that he’s _not_ a leader. Sure, he’s hardheaded and good under pressure, but he’s also a loner and he’s... Well, he’s selfish and all he really wants is to shove Chaos back into the Master Emerald one molecule at a time if he has to and get back to the Island. Sure, he wants to help his friends, but if he has to pick between his friends and keeping the Emerald safe and Chaos contained, he _has_ to go with the Emerald if only because Chaos is real threat here, so. So, there’s that.

(There’s also the tiny part of him that’s fractured off and spun into space, but that part’s been missing for a while so he can pretty much ignore it. They all have parts like that, small, Sonic-shaped parts that stab and twist just like the real thing, except these stabs and twists cause internal bleeding that won’t stop no matter what. And that— That’s hard to ignore but they do it.)

The sunsets these days gouge yellow and orange out of the gray, smoggy sky, and it all seems a little fake. There’s a film when they’re above ground, an artifice that Knuckles can’t see through, and it turns the buildings into hulking shapes that loom, trees into reaching, grabbing creatures, and people into crusts, like corn husks, freshly picked, withered under the hot summer sun. It’s hard to go up, but they have to. They have to keep fighting, even if they’re slowly losing, because if they won’t, who will? Eggman can’t win, not after everything. Not after—

“I’m picking something up on the scanner,” one of Tails’s gearheads says. It’s dusk and the sky is on fire. Whether it’s the sunset or something more sinister they can’t tell yet. Smoke clogs lungs, but they’re used to it, and Knuckles has stinging eyes but he refuses to cry. He’s done that already, months ago, when he felt that piece dislodge and shatter, and he won’t again. He’s moved on; he’s coping.

“What is it?” Knuckles asks, gruff, hands on hips, feet spread, a power stance. Tails taught him when they realized no one was taking him seriously.

“Not sure.” That’s Tails, peering at the gearhead’s tablet. “It’s heading right for us.”

“How fast?” Knuckles surveys the terrain. They’re in an open area, what used to be a forest but was obliterated long ago, so there’s nowhere to hide. They’re not completely defenseless though. They have a few of Tails’s shields left, and if he has to, Knuckles can burrow them a hole in a few seconds.

“Fast,” Tails whispers, and his voice sounds cracked, like an ice shelf under too much pressure, too much heat. Knuckles turns and then aborts the move when he sees Tails’s face, stained with confusion, elation, shock, awe. “It’s so fast, Knuckles.”

Knuckles doesn’t get a chance to hope, because there’s a concussive _boom_ , a blur of color, and a kick of dust. A gritty storm of brown that spins around them like a cyclone.

Everything goes quiet. Everyone turns to stone. The color, the boom, it all snaps into focus.

The only thing Knuckles hears is Tails, “ _Sonic_!” and then the sound of a pair of fox feet, running toward a familiar, blue shape.

+

It’s not that Sonic and Knuckles were together, officially. They flirted a lot, Knuckles spent the night in Sonic’s room a few times, but it was all behind closed doors. In public, they made sure to keep feet between them at all times because they weren’t ready for everyone else to know. It was theirs, for a while, just the two of them, something to nurture and cradle between them at night. Tails probably knew, but no one else did, and it was like a globe of spun glass—perfect from every angle, fragile, but perfect.

When Sonic went missing, that glass slipped from Knuckles’s fingers and shattered.

It was natural for him to assume Sonic’s position as leader, both because they were more similar than either was willing to admit and because there was this heaviness in the way Knuckles approached the world, something they needed when Sonic’s airiness was missing. They would hunker down with the person who knew Sonic, not as well as Tails, but who knew him well enough.

In Knuckles’s mind, it was the least he could do, considering how broken he was. If he could pretend to be Sonic, maybe he wouldn’t be gone completely, could live on from within Knuckles somehow.

It worked, but only barely.

+

Okay, so Knuckles is fond of Sonic, as loathe as he is to admit it in public, but when he sees him, standing there, fur mangled, quills misshapen and uncut, hugging Tails with the desperation of an isolated, lost man, he almost hates him. Yeah, there’s relief, and his chest lightens, almost as if there had been a hand strangling him this whole time, but there’s also anger and irritation.

Because _how dare_ Sonic do this to them.

Tails is crying, loud sobs that rattle from deep in his chest. They’re so big they seem like they can’t possibly belong to him, but they do, and it shakes Knuckles up even more. Sonic has his head buried in the fur on Tails’s head, fingers grasping at Tails’s shoulders, and Knuckles can see him shaking from here.

And here’s the problem, the problem that Knuckles won’t ever admit: he’s emotional, but it’s always the fiery emotions that he reacts to first because the blue, milkier ones don’t feel as good and they last longer. Anger, for all its danger, at least comes and goes with a quick snap. Sadness, grief, melancholy—those stick around like angry ticks.

Sonic looks up and makes eye contact. No one moves. Then, he grins, lopsided, relieved, Tails still crying in his arms but he looks so damn _happy_ to see Knuckles and—

Knuckles could punch him.

+

Knuckles punches him. It’s not his finest move, but Sonic approaches with arms held open and he (Knuckles) rears back and wallops him (Sonic) so hard he spins around a few times before he goes down. Everyone else (Tails, Amy, Espio, Vector, Charmy, Silver, Blaze) gasps, but Knuckles’s world is narrowed to Sonic. Sonic as he groans, as he gets onto his hands and knees, as he holds a hand to his lip and it comes back a bit bloodied, a split lip, nothing more because Knuckles took it easy on him. Sonic as he sits back on his knees, smiles again, winces because the lip, and says, “I missed you too.”

And it’s that easy. The fire turns to clouds, puff, gone, replaced instead with an ache that he can’t quite explain. He feels himself falling to his own knees, right in front of Sonic, and he’s not crying but he’s close, so close. Sonic reaches for him and Knuckles falls further, would crawl into Sonic’s ribcage if he could because he’s sick of being alone. His whole life, alone and then finally a few blissful months of notalone and then alone again but aware of it, stronger for it, a leader.

Sonic’s crying, something so strange that it nearly shocks Knuckles out of his own sorrow, and he looks up to see him still smiling, tears drawing small pathways through his filthy fur. “I missed you too,” he repeats.

It’s one of the most earnest, honest things Sonic’s ever said. Knuckles cracks a smile and laughs, finally feels like they have a chance in this war.

And, just to make sure, he socks Sonic in the shoulder again. To prove a point.


	2. Resistance Items Log

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ao3 ate some of my fancy indents and i'm too lazy to fix it. just pay attention to the numbers

**RESISTANCE PERSONAL ITEMS LOG**

**BUNKER #267, MYSTIC RUINS/STATION SQUARE BRANCH**

**RESISTANCE MEMBER:** Knuckles, #2671

**ROOM #136**

**TRANSLATOR:** Tails, #2672

**\--**

**PERSONAL ITEMS, AS REPORTED BY RESISTENCE MEMBER #2671**

**Smuggled from:** TAILS’S WORKSHOP in the early evening thru the early morning of August 21, 20XX via tunnels. **STATUS OF THE WORKSHOP UNKNOWN**

**1.0: one (1) pair of shoes, sneakers, yellow and red, no laces**

1.0.1: origin unclear; construction unlike anything found on the surface, found amongst rubble as a child and grown into at around age 13.

            1.1: socks, green, five (5) pair, large thread

1.1.1: hand sewn with store bought thread, a wooden needle, at night by firelight; some of the stitches are uneven and crooked, but they are sturdy and will not need replacing unless they are burned.

**2.0: gloves, two (2) pair, large thread**

2.0.1: origin unclear; large, antique thread, fitted and tailored by firelight to fit tight around fists and spikes; an extension of the wearer; have never ripped and will not need replacing unless burned.

**3.0: one (1) windbreaker, red, pink, blue, orange, yellow, in a geometric print**

3.0.1: originally Sonic’s, stolen from his bedroom in order to work as a sling to carry canned goods (now found in the kitchens)

3.0.1.1: bought at a thrift store in Empire City; tried on and ripped on hedgehog quills in excitement; when the clerk saw, her expression made it all worth it; laughed so hard we both cried.

3.0.1.2: Sonic said, “You break it you buy it” as he shoved some money across the counter.

                        3.0.1.3: the only reply I could come up with, “You didn’t break it, you ripped it.”

3.0.1.4: that night, sewed up by lamplight, modified to fit hedgehog quills; he thanked me and it felt like it was for more than the jacket. (Translator’s note: no real mobian translation exists for this.)

3.1: torn zipper, needs to be mended; Sonic said it gave it character

**4.0: one (1) leather jacket, black, buttons and zippers, well-worn**

            4.0.1: stolen from Sonic’s room, called it his “flying jacket.”

4.0.1.2: only saw him wear it once, when he found his way to the Island on a Wednesday afternoon (as he informed me).

4.0.1.2.1: time doesn’t exist on the Island, not the way surface dwellers see it; there is no sunrise and sunset when you move above the planet, under the atmosphere; days do not exist so much as pass unnoticed.

4.0.1.3: we spent the afternoon together, picking the ripe fruit in Marble Garden, munching on apples and plums

4.0.1.4: he packed lemons into his pockets, “for lemonade,” and I pretended not to notice when they spilled out and thudded to the ground when he moved too fast

4.0.1.5: he paid his respects to the Master Emerald, bowed so that his forehead could touch it, hands spread over its surface, whispering so fast that I couldn’t understand the language

4.0.1.6: the jacket spread under us as we looked at the stars, arguing over constellations

            4.0.1.6.1: “the warrior protects us from invasion”

            4.0.1.6.2: “no, the _guardian_ protects the planet from Chaos.”

            4.0.1.6.3: “oh, so I’m in the sky?”

            4.0.1.6.4: “if anything, that’s me up there.”

4.0.1.6.5: “really Knuckles? You? What have you ever done that deserves astronomical remembering?”

4.0.1.6.6: “deal with you, for one.”

**5.0: one (1) polaroid camera, bumped and bruised, strap tied into knots**

5.0.1: rescued from Tails’s full hands in the tunnels; originally from Sonic’s room; probably grabbed by the fox in a panic, with the hope that Sonic will use it again

5.1: two (2) rolls of film, still in the boxes, thrown into the windbreaker sling amongst the canned food; unopened but perhaps useful

5.2: photo album, thirty-two (32) photos, four (4) to a page; at least five (5) years

5.2.1: a few of a creature I’ve never seen before, of a species that I don’t recognize: magenta, with a large green bauble about his neck

5.2.2: the last photo, the most important, Sonic, days before he went missing, kissing someone we can’t quite see, from the back; six (6) head quills, two (2) back quills, small fly-aways that always need to be set back into place

5.3: green bauble (1), knotted into the strap

**6.0: a mug, ceramic, white with a child’s painting of multi-colors**

            6.0.1: “World’s Best Dad” it says, an eternal joke between Sonic and Tails

6.0.1.1: he served me coffee in it once, an early morning when neither of us could sleep

6.0.1.2: sky sun-lit, pale and clear

6.0.1.3: cold winter, snow on the ground, making it brighter still

6.0.1.4: a set of Tails’s gloves, ripped from the workshop, in desperate need of attention, splayed on the table like a child’s dissection in science class; a needle, metal in my hands

6.0.1.5: busy energy in the air as Sonic makes coffee, leverages all of his weight into the push pedal on the trash can to throw out the grounds; jittery hands trying to sew, not always the best but it worked out

6.0.1.6: “I apparently don’t know what the word dad means,” I said as I spun the mug around.

6.0.1.7: “would you have a framework for that?” Sonic said. “You living alone and all?”

6.0.1.7: there’s a certain smartness that follows Sonic around; it’s easy to forget about, but then he says things like that and you’re struck by how he sees the world a bit sideways from everyone else, approaches things from different angles

6.0.1.8: “That’s none of my business,” Sonic cut across before I could answer, probably taking my silence as offense. “A dad is a male parental figure, but the mug is a joke.”

6.0.1.9: an imperceptible cock of my head, a blink, nostrils flared in thought

6.0.1.10: “Everyone says I’m a father figure for Tails. He made me that mug a few months ago. Turn it.”

6.0.1.11: I spun it again, squinted, and there, small and bleeding together, a date, and under that, a blue, spiky figure and a red, rounded one, holding hands.

**7.0: one (1) guitar, acoustic, strings perfectly tuned**

7.0.1: retrieved on a secret trip, after the bunker doors had been locked closed for the fallout; tunneled under everything, came up in the Workshop, plaster falling from the ceiling, walls rattling, pictures falling, electricity flickering

7.0.2: ducked through the house, kept low to the ground, crawled up the stairs, coughed on dust and ash, punched through Sonic’s bedroom door, gathered guitar, binder of sheet music, case

7.1: binder of sheet music, black, drawn all over with white paint marker: music notes, time signatures, music notation things, small hearts and stars

7.2: guitar case, covered with bumper stickers from all over the world, bent in the middle, leather peeling off, gray under all those stickers

7.2.1: Central City, Sonic on a charity bender, feeling guilty and wanting to help everyone; set up near the main park on a bench, guitar case open in front of him, strumming and humming in warm up

7.2.2: case already confetti’d with bills, both high and low; the money is for sick kids, he told people as they stopped by, asked for autographs, asked for pictures

7.2.2.1: they trusted him like Santa Claus; they left their money with him, trusting that he would take it to where he said he would; trusted him differently from how I did: I trusted him to watch my back, to share a bed, to have his head near my heart; they trusted like he was a mythical creature.

            7.2.3: when asked about me: “this is Knuckles, my boy—best friend.”

            7.2.4: no one ever noticed the slip

**8.0: three (3) Chaos Emeralds, green, yellow, red, kept in a locked box in a locked safe under the bed**

8.1: the green, found in a Special Zone in Mystic Ruins by Tails, two months before the bombing

8.2: the yellow, found for sale in Shamar in a caravan; Sonic spent far too much on it, but declared it was worth it when he saw Tails nearly breathe fire

8.3: the red, presented to me as “a ruby,” with a gentle, small smile, late at night; I had been asleep on the couch and woke up to Sonic on one knee before me, holding the Emerald out

8.3.1: it cast a strange glow on the room, made his face seem warm and familiar, his teeth brighter, smile true and genuine

            8.3.2: “I found this for you,” he whispered. “A ruby.”

            8.3.3: “That’s an Emerald.”

            8.3.4: “No, it’s ruby like you.”

8.3.5: sat up, took the Emerald, noticed Sonic’s position on the floor, said, “Are you trying to be romantic again?”

8.3.6: his grin only widened. “Is it working?”

8.3.7: I’ve never trusted that smile, but something about the glow, the moment, the sound of the wind outside, made me drop my guard. “If it is, what’s your goal?”

8.3.8: no verbal reply; he leaned forward, so close that I could see the individual furs on his face, looked into my eyes, waiting for permission or encouragement

8.3.8.1: I haven’t lived on the surface for long, but I knew this: Sonic’s love of words, words from vocal chords, tone and emotion, positive or negative; no assumption from him, only things verbalized before he moved.

            8.3.9: “Yes, kiss me already.”

**9.0: one (1) rugged, “field” sewing kit, for mending:**

            9.0.1: socks,

            9.0.2: gloves,

            9.0.3: jackets,

            9.0.4: hearts.


	3. Heartbeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to update this thing. Oh well. Here, have your fluff.

Sonic is battered, has bruises, a few burns, and a sprained ankle because of course he does—only Sonic would run on a sprain. So, he’s sequestered to the medbay, ordered not to move all night, plugged into an IV because he’s dehydrated, and they hook a heart monitor to him too. That last bit is overkill and Knuckles is absolutely sure it’s so they can keep track of him. If he suddenly flat lines, it’s because he got his little blue ass up and walked (limped) out.

Knuckles busies himself for the rest of the evening, coordinating supplies and making sure Tails stays out of the doctors’ way, but eventually even he has to turn in for sleep. He rolls around for a few hours, but decides to give up at midnight, slides out of bed, leaves his small room—one of hundreds in the bunker, not the biggest but decently sized—and walks on autopilot all the way to the medbay.

Medbay is the only place in the bunker with carpet, windows, and wooden doors. Everywhere else is metal, metal, and more metal, so much so that Knuckles dreams in the echoes of footsteps, the tang of it on his tongue. It’ll be nice to have other things to dream about once this is all over.

Sonic’s the only one occupying a bed currently because it’s been thirty-seven days since their last incident (as the readout in command says, though it’s said that for a few days so it might be broken). He’s got the best bed, by default, or maybe not, he thinks as he sees the nurses peering at him from their small, shared office. Dr. Lark is in there too and she’s trying to keep her staff under control, but Sonic is too enticing, too distracting.

Knuckles is waved through easily enough and he pulls the curtain around Sonic’s bed as he goes, blocking the disruption so that medical can function as it normally does. Plus, he wants privacy.

“You’re abusing your power, General,” Sonic cracks, sleepy, looking warm and mussed from a nap. He’s got the thin, rough blanket pulled up to his chin, and he scoots over easily, pats the bed next to him with the IV’d hand. The heart monitor speeds up some as he moves (or maybe it’s in reaction to Knuckles; Sonic’s face isn’t telling), but settles down easily enough. Knuckles seats himself tenderly, facing Sonic, one leg curled under him, the other hanging free to swing along with the beat of Sonic’s life.

They sit there for a while, not a sound between them. Sonic breathes deliberate breaths, reaches for Knuckles’s hand, aborts that, lets his hand fall back into his own lap because the IV, and starts to pull at the threads of the blanket. Knuckles can’t get his own muscles to move, can only stare because there’s a heavy tension between them, a pulling gravity that finds them caught, wide eyed.

Here’s another thing Knuckles won’t admit: he’s bad at words, just like Sonic. They’d both rather use actions to communicate, but there’s no dynamic acts of love, no dramatic declaration to be found here. Sonic went missing, the world set itself on fire, and Knuckles is trying to hold it all together. They’re both tired of grand gestures, of declarations, of possible implosions. Knuckles isn’t even sure if Sonic shares his feelings, but he doesn’t have the strength to ask because doing that will just acknowledge it.

There’s no words, no actions that will suffice, because Eggman has sucked all life and color out of the world. The small things that used to matter—their arguments over which fruit was the best, Sonic complaining about Knuckles’s habit of leaving lights on, their small misunderstandings—don’t matter anymore. All that’s left is the two of them, strung together by a thin line, Sonic to Knuckles, Knuckles to Sonic—

There’s only one thing to do, really.

Eventually, Knuckles gets his hand to work. He picks it up, and it feels like it’s detached from his being, a phantom limb, but he guides it to Sonic’s head, where one of his quills is still sticking up, unruly from whatever Sonic went through before this.

Knuckles sets the quill back into place, smooths it down, and Sonic is staring at him, unblinking, eyes as wide as the full moon. He mouths something, something like _Please_ , and that increases the gravity. Suddenly, with Knuckles’s hand on Sonic’s head, Sonic weakened by his own desperation, and the unsaid plea, they become two gravity-bound star systems, spinning toward each other at terminal velocity. There’s no stopping it as Knuckles follows his hand, drops down, and blazes a kiss on Sonic’s chapped, dry lips.

The heart monitor plays a staccato drum solo.


End file.
